


Something Wild and Unruly

by nonbinarywithaknife (littleboxes), oftennot



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Western, Alternating Character POV, Bandits & Outlaws, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fjord is a Cowboy, Fluff, Guns, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Uk'otoa is his trusty steed, brief non-graphic depiction of a dead animal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-01-08 08:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21232733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxes/pseuds/nonbinarywithaknife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftennot/pseuds/oftennot
Summary: A tragedy forces Veth to change her name and leave her hometown and old life behind. As Nott, she ends up in Nicodranas, a town deep in the desert, drinking away her sorrows at the local saloon where she meets a charming bartender named Fjord…





	1. Fjord I: Debt and the Desert

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story is lifted from the song Cowboy Take Me Away by the Dixie Chicks.

It’s already evening but the sun is only now beginning to sink into the horizon. The scorching heat of the day still sits over the roads of Nicodranas and will keep the town pleasantly warm for the rest of the night. The daytime businesses like the depot, post office, and boutiques are closing up their storefronts and families are making their way home. 

It’s as the rest of the town is settling in for the night that The Lavish Chateau awakens. 

Though Fjord woke with the sunrise this morning, this is the first time today that he’s stepping outside. He isn’t the type to sleep the day away, but he still hasn’t adjusted to the never ending dry heat of the desert which keeps most of his daytime activities confined to the indoors. That suits him just fine. There’s more than enough to do around the Chateau anyway.

He grabs his broad-brimmed hat hanging by the door on the way out of his room, the straw material faded and worn with use. Jester keeps bugging him about getting a higher quality hat, but Fjord likes this one. He doesn’t need anything fancy. He makes sure to lock the door after he closes it, slipping the key deep into his pockets. Typically people knew better than to try any funny business at the Chateau, but alcohol and revelry can turn anyone stupid and reckless. Fjord prefers to be safe rather than sorry. Nicodranas is an unforgiving place. 

The upper floors of the saloon are where the private rooms are located. The floors are lined with lush red carpets while gold trimmed decorations adorn the walls. There are few windows situated at the end of the halls, their dim lighting adding to the soft, warm atmosphere. Some of the staff, like Fjord, are offered lodging in these rooms, while the vacant ones are rented out to travelers passing through. The suite at the other end of the wing is the quarters of the Jewel of the West herself, and whichever lucky patron she entertains that night. Fjord gives a quick nod to Bluud, the barrel chested Minotaur and personal bodyguard of the Jewel standing watch in front of the suite’s doors, and continues his way down the staircase to the main floor. 

The saloon is mostly empty at this point in the day. It’s well after the lunch rush but not quite time for the night’s festivities to begin. The few patrons habiting the tables are probably eating an early dinner before heading home. Tyral is the only worker on hand at the moment, refilling drinks and clearing away finished meals. Fjord and Jester will be relieving him for the night shift soon. He approaches the young man at entrance to the kitchens. 

“Afternoon Tyral,” Fjord greets, leaning against the counter top. 

“Oh, hello Fjord,” Tyral returns, a bit frazzled and distracted as he slides the dirty dishes to the kitchen staff and relays the customers’ food orders. 

“How’s the day treating ya?” 

Tyral sighs and wipes some sweat from his brow. “It’s been alright, a bit slow in the morning but the afternoon rush was killer. Would’ve been in a tight spot but luckily Nadine was around to lend a hand.” 

Fjord grimaces. “You know you can always ask me to come help out if things get hectic. I don’t mind a little extra work.” He really doesn't. The more he works, the more money he makes. And gods know he needs the money. Besides, he genuinely enjoys making small talk with the customers. All kinds of folk find their way to the saloon.

“Thanks, Fjord, I appreciate the offer,” the young man smiles, “but I know the night shift is crazy enough, and you work till early in the morning. You need all the rest you can get.” 

“Well, keep the offer in mind anyhow,” Fjord straightens himself up off the counter. “I’m gonna stop by the stables right quick before my shift starts. Take it easy,” He waves and heads for the exit. 

From the saloon’s front porch he takes a moment to survey the road, ducking his head as he puts on his hat. The Lavish Chateau sits at the center of the entertainment district in Nicodranas, a city known for its nighttime pleasures. The buildings in this area look dead and dirty in the daylight — all old, chipped wooden frames and peeling paint jobs, the dry and cracked earth desperate for rain, an occasional gust of wind scattering dirt and rocks. At night it comes alive, when lights, music, and laughter fill the streets. With the sun gone and prying eyes turned to their own guilty pleasures, the inhabitants of Nicodranas discard their concerns abouts maintain their admittedly loose sense of public image and indulge their baser desires. It’s truly a sight to behold, and it coalesces within the walls of the Lavish Chateau.

Fjord strolls out of the entertainment district and makes for the outskirts of town. “District” was maybe a bit too generous a term, since it was really just a neighborhood block. There weren’t really cities in the west, mainly outposts that eventually grew into towns. Nicodranas is one of the bigger settlements, but compared to other areas of Wildmount calling it a city would be met with condescension and laughter. It takes Fjord a matter of minutes to reach the edge of town where the stables are, a convenient location for travelers coming and going. 

Fjord exchanges brief pleasantries with the stablehand before excusing himself to head into the stables. He stops at the third stall on the right, where a nameplate reads _Uk’otoa_. “Hey there buddy,” Fjord says as he opens the hatch and steps inside. A horse with a dark coat, golden mane and matching eyes snorts in reply, which Fjord interprets as a greeting. He reaches out and Uk’otoa bows his head, consenting the gesture of affection. 

“Sorry I haven’t taken you out for a ride recently,” He takes a brush from the nearby shelf and begins combing out the tangles in Uk’otoa’s mane with smooth, practiced strokes. The ritual is calming for both Fjord and the horse. “Things have been busy at work.” 

His animal friend doesn’t give any indication of acknowledging his apology, but does nuzzle his hand not occupied with the brush and stomps his hooves impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, you want a snack,” Fjord murmurs and grabs some feed, holding it out in his open palm, which Uk’otoa immediately devours. “I promise you tomorrow we’ll go out for a ride,” he says wistfully, images of the rolling hills and and the burning light of sunset playing across his mind. “I’ve been itching to get out myself too.” 

Other than the clothes on his back, a handful of coins and a rucksack, Uk’otoa was the only thing of Fjord’s that he brought with him when he arrived in Nicodranas. Those were really the only things that he could claim as his own — not that Uk’otoa would agree to being a _ possession_, the horse was as wild and independent as any cowboy. Fjord bought him on the coast, when him and Vandran first set out on their adventure inland. He never had any training or exposure to horses, but somehow Fjord had connected with the stubborn guy, despite the seller’s warnings about him punting previous customers. One look into those golden eyes had struck a chord within him, like the horse looked right through him. Uk’otoa was from the seaside, like him. There was an understanding there, the same wanderlust and thirst for adventure — something Fjord was only starting to discover within himself. “He’s the one,” is what he had told Vandran. At least he hadn’t been wrong about that. Uk’otoa was still with him. 

It’s fitting, he supposes, that he ended up in a desert of sand, dirt, rocks, and mountains. After all, centuries ago water ran through here, carving, shaping and forming the lands as it pleased. Like water he followed the flow wherever it carried him, and if that ended being behind the bar of a saloon where lost souls drink away their sorrows to the song and dance of sultry entertainers and piano music, that was all well and good. 

Life could be worse. Much worse. 

After a few more minutes of chatting with Uk’otoa (who did not make for the best conversationalist) Fjord bids his horse goodbye and heads back to the Chateau to get ready for his work shift. There’s no need for him to change his attire before taking his place at the bar — it’s been encouraged, no, _ demanded _that he lean into the cowboy look. The killer combination of his drawl and the hat is a big hit with the patrons, according to Jester. Fjord is still a bit out of his depth with being fawned over by customers, but if it brings in more business and tips, he can’t complain much. 

After he settles into this usual place behind the bar he sets about checking the stock of liquor and other drinks behind the counter, wiping down the bartop, and polishing a few glasses. The cooks were prepping the complimentary hors d'oeuvres that would be served this evening, the smell of cheese and meats wafting through the saloon. The large and elegant chandeliers drip warm, golden light like honey onto room, casting everything in a sultry glow. Everything seemed to be in place, ready to go, with the only thing missing —

“_Fjoooooord_,” a voice sings.

There she is. He smirks and turns to face her. “There you are, Jester,” a blue tiefling with matching hair, violet eyes and bells affixed to her curved horns stands before him, hands bracing against the counter she’s leaning over. “I was wondering where you got off to.”

Jester flutters her eyelashes and coos, “Did you _ miss _ me?” 

“The Chateau is never the same without ya,” Fjord answers, and Jester beams at the compliment. Jester is what a person would be if sunshine was bottled up and packed into human form. Chatting with her is like a warm summer’s day.

“Did you visit the stables today?” she asks.

“Yeah, I did. Uk’otoa is getting restless, I’m gonna take him out soon.” 

Jester gasps and leans closer. “Are you gonna leave and go on an _ adventure_?” 

Fjord shakes his head. “Unfortunately no, as much as I’d love to. Don’t quite have the time nor money to wander at the moment.”

Jester deflates, huffing in disappointment. “Well, if you ever _ do _ go out adventuring, you _ have _ to let me know so I can go with you! I’ve never been outside of Nicodranas…” she rests her chin in her hand, staring forlornly out the windows of the saloon.

His eyes soften as he notes the unmistakable hint of longing in Jester’s tone. He takes in a breath to offer — he’s not too sure what, he's complete shit at this kind of thing honestly, but hopefully some words of comfort? Reassurance? — when Jester perks up, back to smiling eyes and rosy cheeks, no trace left of her downcast demeanor. The transformation is so sudden Fjord wonders if he imagined the whole thing. 

“I got another letter and package from the Traveler today!” It hasn’t escaped Fjord that she’s changing the subject, but he won’t pry her for more. He wouldn’t know what to do with a sad Jester. “The letter was short again, as usual,” she rolls her eyes and waves her hand in dismissal, “but he sent me another set of paints! I’m _ so _ excited to try them out! They’re super glittery and just thinking about all the things I could do with _ glitter paint_—”

“As long as you don’t go causin’ trouble with the patrons again,” Fjord cuts in, raising an eyebrow. “Remember what happened with that Sharpe fellow?”

Jester pouts and narrows her eyes at him. “Oh, you’re _ such _ a party pooper, Fjord.” She sticks her tongue out for good measure. “I’m smart enough not to get _ caught _ anyway.” There’s a brief pause as Fjord tries to formulate a response to _ that _ but Jester continues on. “Well, I should get back to preparing for tonight’s shift. Everything has to be _ perfect _ for Mama’s performance, as usual. See you around, Fjord!” She skips off, skirts bouncing, smiling and waving at the other workers as she passes by, leaving each one of them smiling or in happier spirits because of it. 

Fjord sighs and shakes his, but he too is left smiling at Jester. It’s impossible _ not _ to be charmed by her. She truly is the daughter of the Jewel of the West. 

The rest of the time spent preparing the bar for the night passes quickly. He’s done this plenty of times now, knows the routine like he knows the gentle rock of a ship out at sea. The procedure of it all gives him a sense of ease, almost. The same as a deckhand, being a bartender is a job like any other. He knows what’s expected of him, how to perform, how to please, how to make himself useful. It’s a role he fits into well. And like the open ocean — and even the vast desert — there’s just enough unpredictability in the day to day that it doesn’t ever get boring. 

Fjord is polishing a cocktail glass until it’s clear enough to see his own yellow eyes staring back at him when he hears Jester’s cheerful voice welcoming in the first guests of the night. The pianist starts tapping out an upbeat tune near the stage, where the Jewel of the West will later make her appearance. Another night at the Lavish Chateau. 

He places the now sparkling glass in its rightful place on the shelf, wiping his hands dry on the towel hanging over his shoulder. 

It’s enough, Fjord muses. 

Life could be worse. Much worse.


	2. Nott I: New Names and New Friends

Veth quite literally stumbles over the man. Of course, it’s not until she hears a loud hissing noise that she realizes what she’s nearly stepped on isn’t, in fact, a pile of discarded rags, but a man, wearing a shabby coat, with a tabby cat- a mouser judging by the shape it’s in- wrapped posessively around his neck. 

A rotten smell catches her nose, and some ways off is what she thinks used to be a horse. It’s dead now, and Veth is beginning to wonder just what she’s stumbled across, when the man groans. He shifts, and she tenses, hand on her pistol, but he doesn’t reach for a weapon. Instead, he simply looks up at her with clouded eyes, and speaks in a language she doesn’t understand. 

“Sorry? Are you… alright?”

She’s not sure if the noise he makes was one of pain or more words she can’t understand, but she can feel herself getting increasingly reluctant to leave. This road is pretty far off from most big towns, and clearly this man has been lying here for quite some time. It’s very possible she’s the first person to find him. Who knows when he’s last eaten?

She crouches down, but backs away when the cat snarls at her. It looks thin, but not starved, and it has scars across its nose and a hole in its ear. Veth tries to project an aura of calm. 

“It’s alright, see, I’m just going to help him up, okay? I can’t give him food if he’s busy eating dirt, now can I?”

Veth swears that the cat stares right into her eyes, as if considering the truthfulness of her words, before tentatively backing off. It watches attentively as Veth tries to sit the man up. 

He’s clearly delirious. She’s not sure he recognizes that she’s here at all. It’s as she has him in what could generously be called an upright position that she notices his leg. More specifically, she notices that it’s bent at a very unnatural angle. 

“Well, shit. What on earth did you two get _ into_?” she asks, partially to herself, partially to the cat. She eyes the man and then eyes her mule. She’s a small woman, but Sweetie barely tolerates one passenger. She doubts they’d make it ten minutes. 

She stands up, abandoning the man for now, to try and figure out what to do. She has a fair amount of supplies- enough to last her a couple weeks if she’s careful and smart (which she is. At least. Smart. Yeza would argue on the first point. But Yeza’s not here right now, to see her stopping to help a strange man and his cat on the side of the road. So it doesn’t matter.)

The road they’re on is really more of a dirt trail, worn down by wagons and horses and the like. It’s mostly surrounded by dry dirt on all sides, but there is a small copse of trees that can’t be more than a ten minute walk. It’s far enough from the trail that they wouldn’t be visible to just anyone, and it wouldn’t be the first time Veth has had to camp in the woods. Hell, this time she’s even got matches!

She sighs, already knowing she’s not going to leave the strange man behind. She rolls up her sleeves and runs her hands down her skirt before getting her arms under the man. He’s- not actually that heavy. She stumbles for a second picking him up, as she realizes she’s lifted _ hay bales _ heavier than him. That certainly doesn’t bode well. 

He moans in pain as his leg is jostled and she winces when she realizes she has no way to support it on the ride to the trees. Ten minutes isn’t _ that _ long, surely. It’ll be fine. Probably. 

The cat is still staring at her, and she sticks out her tongue. Honestly, there’s no need for it to look so judgy. 

“I’d like to see _ you _ do that,” she says, and then grabs Sweetie’s reins. It only takes three tugs and some light swearing to get the old creature to move, and then Veth & co. are on the move. 

It ends up taking closer to twenty minutes to find a suitable place to camp, between trying to go slow enough she doesn’t give the guy permanent damage in his leg and urging Sweetie forward, but she finds a small clearing between the scraggly trees with a relatively smooth ground, and she slumps to the ground, panting. 

After a rest, she gets the guy off the horse. First business is water, then food, then hope he wakes up. 

Thankfully it’s not hard to drip some water from her canteen in-between his lips, but food proves harder. Most everything she has is hard, dry, and meant to last, and what he needs is some hearty soup. 

She decides to keep it up with the water and hope he gets lucid enough to eat on his own. She does give a small strip of jerky to the cat, if only to cultivate some goodwill. The cat accepts, and actually curls up next to her leg. 

Veth sets up a small fire, as well as her travel mat. As she keeps watch, she wonders about the long coat the man is wearing- brown leather, hardy-looking, if a bit ragged, and fur lined. Frankly, she’s amazed he hadn’t passed out from heatstroke. Actually- she’s not sure he _ hasn’t_. She wonders what he’s hiding under it- he only has a small satchel, and there’s hardly enough room in it for any sort of supplies. 

Maybe she’ll ask him when he wakes up. If he wakes up. 

Dawn has just broken, and Veth is trying to keep herself awake by counting the freckles on her hands, when there is a groan from her left. The man formerly known as a pile of rags is stirring, and his mumbling sounds more like words- albeit, ones she still can’t understand- but coherent words!

Veth freezes. She _ should _ scooch over and offer him some food, and explain the situation, but it’s suddenly hit her how _ unbelievable _ this all is. ‘Oh, yes, I’m a kind stranger who picked you up, half-dead, from the side of the road and gave you water and kept watch all through the night, want some jerky?’ _ That’s _ not suspicious at all. Except- the man is clearly lucid, if confused, and any second he’s going to look over and _ see her _ and, well, she’s gotten herself into this mess, she’s darn well going to get herself _ out_-

“Hello?”

The man whips around, hand going inside his coat, before he focuses on Veth’s face and pauses. She waves, awkwardness weighing down the movement, and the man blinks. Veth can feel how strained her smile must look and attempts to make it more natural. Judging by his face, she can guess how well it went. 

“What-? Who, who are you? Where-?”

“I’m- um, I _ was _ on my way to, well- that’s not important. We’re a little ways off the road I found you on- oh! You need to eat something, you look- well, I would say half-starved but frankly I think you’re a little past that,” Veth shuffles over with her pack, if only to stop the stream of nonsense she’s babbling, and holds out some bread.

The man stares at her, and his eyes are- very blue. Surprisingly blue, actually, somehow she’d imagined them- well. She hadn’t imagined them as anything, really, but if she _ had_, she wouldn’t have guessed a bright, sky blue. Granted, as she looks, she realizes they’re as haunted as they are blue, and tries not to think about another pair of blue eyes. ( His pale face, blood dripping, his desperate hand grabbing hers, _ run Vethy- _)

She blinks away the memories and shoves the food forward when it becomes apparent he’s not going to take it. 

“Here, really, I have more than enough. That is, if we ration it, and start hoofing it to the nearest town, Trostenwald, I think it is? Anyway, em, what’s your name, then?”

He takes it, hesitantly, but once he breaks off the first piece the rest is gone in a flash. 

She hands him more over the next few minutes, and gradually the tension in the air fades, although it doesn’t dissipate completely. The two of them watch as the sun rises, the soft colors blanketing the desert around them beautifully. Eventually, he clears his throat. 

“My name is- er, Caleb. Widogast. And yours?”

Well, that’s clearly a fake name. And, actually, that’s a very smart thing, she probably should’ve been doing all this time, well, Veth isn’t an _ uncommon _ name, exactly, but given the circumstances she should’ve _ thought of it_-

The man- _ Caleb _\- is staring at her and Veth realizes she needs to respond. 

“Oh! Um, my name- my name, is, is- Nott. Nott, the, the- brave. Yes, yep. My name.”

Caleb doesn’t react in any sort of way to her obvious lie, just nods thoughtfully. He pats the cat- does the cat have a name? Should she ask? It only seems polite, really-

“I should- thank you, then, Nott-the-Brave. I do not think- I did not- I was expecting to, to die, there, on that road. You are- are an unexpected kindness.”

The words seem to take a lot out of him, and Veth- Nott, she’s _ Nott_, now, even in her own head, can’t afford to slip up- pulls out her flask. And then puts it away, grabs her canteen, and holds it out. 

Caleb stares at it, then accepts it. They sit there, watching until the last bits of sunrise are gone, taking turns sipping from the canteen. Somehow, it feels- nice. Right. 

Veth’s just jumped out of the bank window, assorted coin pouches secreted away onto her person, when there’s an enormous explosion.

She starts sprinting for the area on the edge of town where she and Caleb had left their horses. The bank is now on fire, and most of the townsfolk are busy staring at it or shouting in alarm. She looks around, and sees Caleb sprinting in the same direction.

She catches his eyes and gives him an incredulous look. This was _ not _ their plan. He gives her a shrug, and she shakes her head and hikes her skirts up higher. They’re wonderful for hiding trinkets (and pistols) but so impractical for climbing through windows and sprinting across towns.

People have begun to notice them now, but they’ve also reached their horses. Or, rather, _ horse _, as it seems Caleb’s has gotten loose. Again.

She hops onto Sweetie and Caleb jumps on a few seconds later.

“_Scheisse_! Go go go!” he whisper-yells, and she gives Sweetive a swat on the flank. She gets an irritated huff in return, but by now Sweetie knows the drill.

The dust kicks up as they escape, and Nott can still hear the sounds of burning wood and shouting townspeople in the distance, but they’re gaining a fast lead.

They ride Sweetie at a full sprint for another hour before she starts to slow down. They finally set up camp when she refuses to go any farther and makes a noise like a hiss when Nott tries to urge her forward.

They settle into their routine as they set up camp. Caleb sets the fire and unloads their bedrolls, and Nott starts counting up their latest acquisitions.

“How long before word gets out about the theft, do you think?” she asks, stacking coins.

Caleb thinks for a second, and then pulls out their map. It’s more for her benefit than his, given his perfect memory, but Nott appreciates it.

“We are three days from the nearest trail, but considering... everything, likely a week at most,” he replies, and Nott sighs.

“Well, add that town to the list of the ones we can never go back to.”

They don’t actually have a physical list, but she trusts Caleb’s memory. They settle in by the fire, and Nott takes the map and studies it.

“You know... we’re only about two weeks away from Nicodranas- I bet they have tons of bookstores, and we haven’t conned anyone from that area in _ ages_.”

“Sure, but- you realize a bigger town likely has... a much more competent sheriff than we are used to dealing with-? Not that I doubt your abilities, but...”

Nott shrugs. “We need to lie low anyway. It’ll take two weeks to get there, and at least a month before people stop looking for us- that explosion was _ amazing_, but probably more headline worthy than a couple of con artists hitting a podunk town.”

Caleb nods. They drift off, Frumpkin ready to paw them awake at the first suspicious noise.

They head out for Nicodranas in the morning.

They ride into Nicodranas sunbaked, dust covered, and more than ready to drink. Nott’s flask had run dry of alcohol four days ago, and they’d had a short run-in with a would-be highwayman, so when Nott spots a bar with the word _ The ‘Chateau _ writ in cursive hung up high, shining in the sun, she doesn’t hesitate to hop off Sweetie and head towards it. 

Caleb takes the reins easily and heads off to find them a place to stay- and keeps his eye out for bookstores; unlikely, now that he’s here and seeing the town for himself, but there’s always a chance. Nott will no doubt be able to find him- or him her, depending on how the other patrons take to her. 

The wooden doors slam shut behind her, and she beelines for the bar. She can feel the eyes of the other patrons on her, and she can feel herself getting irritated. She runs a hand over her favorite pistol, but keeps it in her skirt. It’s odd enough she’s a halfling so far south, but a woman on her own, drinking in a saloon, looking like she’s been traipsing through the desert? She can hear the patronising _ concern _ already.

The bartender’s a human, and although he gives her a surprised look when she orders a whiskey, he also gives her the drink, and that’s really the important thing. 

She settles into the stool, and looks around at the interior of the saloon. It’s nice- surprisingly nice, given the gritty state of the outside, with polished dark wood tables and a piano in the corner. 

She eyes the other patrons as well of course, paying most of her attention to their pockets and purses. It’s a mixed bag- a few humans, some elf-blooded folk, even a tiefling wandering through. There’s a tall person in the corner who looks like he’s covered in _ fur _ , which is new. No one obviously well-off though, and they’re supposed to be _ lying low _ anyway, so she supposes it’s fine. She keeps the whiskies coming, and revels in the numbness. 

She’s drunk herself into a pleasant stupor when someone tries to shake her awake- gently, which she appreciates, but she still goes for her gun, because she has no patience for handsy men. 

Except- he’s on the other side of the bar, and instead of asking her where her _ husband is_, he asks her if she’d like another round. 

She keeps her guarded grimace, but he seems genuine enough. She puts down the coin, and he pours. She doesn’t bother to hide her appraising glance, and his faint blush is amusing. Huh. Maybe she’ll have something more to do other than planning out new cons with Caleb.  



	3. Fjord II: Halfling at High Noon

Working at a saloon means that Fjord has seen his fair share of drunk people. There are folks who can knock back half a bottle of bourbon without blinking an eye and can still walk straight, while others are falling out of their chairs after one sip of beer. People’s intoxication can be given away by their flushed cheeks and slurred words, a twinkle in their eyes and smile when thoughts and feelings they keep hidden in the daytime slip past their loosened lips. Some are loud and boisterous, buying a round for everyone in the saloon. Others get all quiet and pensive-like, each sip of alcohol a wish to drown out whatever demons haunt them.

There are those who use drinking as an escape rather than a celebration. 

Fjord has gotten pretty good at picking out what type of drinker a person will be when first they approach him at the bar. If they walk with a swagger in their step, boots hitting the floor like hammer on a nail, then they’re gonna ask for a glass of whiskey, straight with no ice. They’ll make some small talk with him as he prepares the drink, casually leaning on the countertop to give off an image of nonchalance and an easy charisma, when they’re actually peeking out the corner of their eyes at whatever lady or gentleman they’ve set their sights on. This type will end up buying a whole bottle to bring back to their table in hopes that it’ll help break the tension and ease inhibitions. 

If they order a cocktail they’re trying to be fun and mysterious. They don’t particularly have any motives or clear intentions for the evening and want to see where the night takes them. These folks usually make for better conversationalists and will actually linger at the bar for a few minutes, all coy smiles and wandering eyes on Fjord. He doesn’t mind this type of attention, it makes work more enjoyable for him as well. 

Then there are the quiet, loner types who will stake out a table in the corner of the Chateau right upon entering, away from the revelry and crowds of people. They’re content to sit and observe from afar, and only once they’ve clocked a pattern on the customers that evening will they get up and order a drink during a lull. Most of the time they don’t even know what drink they’re searching to lose themselves in this particular night and they leave it up to Fjord to decide. A scotch for one who gambled away their savings, gin and tonic for a broken heart, or tequila sunrise for someone hoping for a new start. 

Fjord likes to think he can read people well enough, and he can certainly hold a conversation with just about anyone. So when he arrives for his shift that evening and finds a halfling woman passed out on his bartop, it’s really nothing unusual. He identifies the half-empty cup clutched in her hand as a whiskey on ice. Judging by the amount left in the bottle behind the counter, she’s more than a few glasses in. She seems to be alone, no other patrons sitting at the bar or really paying her any attention. He takes a moment to inspect the customer: russet brown hair separated into two messy braids, dark skin that has the unmistakable glow and weathering of many days of sun and travel, the dirt and dust covering her skirts attesting to this. Probably a newcomer who’s rolled into town looking to forget about what they left behind. Fjord can certainly relate. 

It’s when he hears a light snore that he decides it’s time to wake the little lady. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he says, placing a respectful hand on her clothed shoulder and gives a light shake. “Are you alright?”

She grumbles, upset at being woken, and then her body tenses and her hand shoots down to her hip as she sits up, a movement that is all too familiar in these parts. Her fierce hazel eyes take in his position behind the bar and her hand relaxes when she realizes that he’s a worker and not some creep. Her cheeks are flushed with sleep and alcohol, but her eyes are surprisingly clear and bright for someone who was just woken from a drunken stupor. Alright, so she can handle her liquor. 

“Would you like another round, ma’am?” Fjord asks, gesturing to her neglected drink. 

There’s a brief pause as she continues to stare him down, and the way her eyes trail over his white button down shirt, slacks, and matching cowboy hat is not the appreciative glance that he usually receives, but rather the look he’s seen outlaws give before shooting down their target in the street. Fjord tries for his most calm and reassuring smile, tipping his hat for good measure. 

It seems to do the trick, because she gives him a slight nod back and pushes her cup to him. “Alright,” her voice cracks a bit over the word, probably the first she’s spoken in a few hours. Fjord rinses out the glass, dries it off, then grabs a pair of tongs and drops two ice cubes into the glass. Then, he pours her a fresh round of whiskey, filling it three-fourths of the way, finishing it off with a few stirs before presenting it to the woman. “There you go, Miss…?” he ventures, gentle smile still in place. She takes a sip before answering him.

“Nott. Nott the Brave.” She announces her name like one would a badge of honor, with a certain pride and insistence. 

“Nice to meet you, Miss Nott the Brave.” It certainly seems to suit her. “The name’s Fjord, and as you can probably tell I’m the bartender here at the Lavish Chateau. Is this your first time in Nicodranas?”

This time when her eyes take him in, it’s as smooth and savoring as the way she sips her whiskey. Fjord feels himself blush despite himself, and ducks his head a bit as he chuckles. She takes her time with her drink as she considers her answer. “Oh, I’ve been around. Here and there, you know.” 

That wasn’t exactly an answer to his question, so he goes for a different direction. “Are you here by yourself or meeting up with someone?” 

Not the right question to ask. Her eyes narrow and she purses her lips in clear annoyance. “And what if I am here alone? What’s so wrong about a woman having a little bit to drink?”

Fjord refrains from mentioning that it was definitely more than a little that she’d had, because he’s not an idiot, and he genuinely doesn’t want to upset her. “Ain’t nothing wrong with that, Miss Nott,” he agrees, holding his hands up in appeasement. “Just wondering if you would like some company this evening.”

Her eyes are still narrowed with suspicion, but she says, “Just Nott is fine.” 

Fjord smiles. “Alright then, Nott. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Do you always lay it on this thick?” She rolls her eyes.

“I can’t say I know what you mean,” he winks and gets an amused scoff in return. Yes, he is most definitely laying it on thick. Cowboys and the “wild west” have been around long enough now that grandiose stories of them have spread to other parts of the country and sometimes bring in travelers who want to see these mythical heroes first hand. The truth is there aren’t many heroes in these parts, and most cowboys are just ranchers herding cattle. Everyone else is lost or running to or from something and this is nothing but a stop along the way. If Fjord happens to fit into the stereotype of a charming and smooth southern gentleman, well, why not put on a good show? Most people eat it up gladly. 

He’s beginning to think Nott isn’t most people. She tosses back the rest of her drink and slams the cup down, looking at him expectantly. “Well?” she prompts. “Pour me another one!”

“Yes ma’am,” he answers and fills her glass again. She’s just about polished off the bottle. 

“How long have you been working here?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the Chateau. 

“Just a little over two years now,” he says and joins her in taking in the atmosphere. Two patrons break out in a fight, knocking over a few chairs and earning some yells from other customers until Bluud stomps over, grabs them both by the scruff and drags them out the door. “Feels like a lot longer than that, to tell you the truth.” 

“Don’t you get bored, standing behind that bar every night?” 

She’s still facing the rest of the room, so she doesn’t see the way his hands twitch or the slight downturn of his mouth. “Eh, not really. Lots of interesting folk run through Nicodranas, and they all stop here before they head out. I’ve been able to meet all kinds of people working here.” 

Nott turns to him now, a grin rounding out her flushed cheeks. “You often meet other women drinking by themselves like this?” 

“From time to time. This town isn’t quite so concerned with propriety like other places.” Fjord almost feels himself blushing again when her grin grows devilishly as he says  _ propriety _ . 

“Well I can drink to that!” She holds up her glass in cheers and doesn’t wait for him to get a drink himself before finishing off another round. Okay, now Fjord is starting to get a little concerned. He’s seen men three times the size of Nott keel over from the amount of alcohol she’s drunk, and yet she seems more energetic than ever. But he’s also learned in this, er,  _ engaging  _ conversation with Nott that if he were to so much as utter a single word of caution or concern she would string him up by his boots. 

Fjord is trying to put together a more indirect line of questioning that won’t draw Nott’s ire when his eyes are drawn to Jester, who has been walking around on her server duties, rushing to the door and greeting a customer with more than her usual enthusiasm. They appear to be a man, dressed in fine clothes and a wide-brimmed hat that covers most of their face. They keep their head down and hands in their pockets as Jester leads them across the saloon, projecting a finely crafted aura of nonchalance. The effect is not so convincing when they keep throwing surreptitious glances over their shoulder at the entrance, where Bluud has still not returned from dealing with the two fighting drunkards. 

They’re purposefully trying to sneak past the bouncer. Which means it can only be one person. 

“Well, here we go again,” Fjord sighs as Jester and the “man” approach the bar. Nott gives him a quizzical look.

“Here goes what?”

“ _ Hiiiiiiyaaaa Fjord, _ ” Jester greets, her smile too wide and sweet and up to no good. “Guess who came to visit?” she giggles and nudges forward her companion. 

“I think I already know,” Fjord states and raises a skeptical brow at the figure, who is still bothering with the pretense of hiding their face under the hat. As if it weren’t obvious. Bluud would have sniffed them out in a second if he hadn’t been preoccupied with the fight, which is a very lucky coincidence… 

Of course. 

“Good afternoon, Beauregard.” 

A scoff emits from under the hat and their shoulders sag in exasperation. “Damnit, Fjord, you could at least pretend to be fooled!” a low and gravely but very much  _ feminine  _ voice whines. The head finally lifts revealing dark skin, deep blue eyes, and days old makeup. Despite the irritation in her tone Beauregard is smirking at him, pleased that her foolish plan to sneak into the Chateau actually worked. 

“Isn’t this exciting!” Jester bounces. “It’s been ages since Beau has been able to hang out with us here!” 

“That’s because she’s technically still banned from the Chateau,” Fjord reminds them, but he too is smiling, unable to hide the joy he feels at seeing his mischievous friend again. 

“Beau? Who’s Beau?” she says, feigning confusion. “My name is Clayton. I’m just passing through town and was drawn here by all the cute ladies,” she throws in a wink and nudges Jester, who giggles and blushes under the compliment. 

Fjord rolls his eyes. “I take it you were the one who orchestrated that little scene earlier?” he nods his head at the entrance to where Bluud was only now returning, looking disgruntled. 

Beau shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Jester leans across Beau to address Nott, who has been sipping her drink quietly, trying not to draw attention to herself while listening to their conversation. “Hi! What’s your name? My name is Jester. Are you new in town?” She flinches slightly when Jester speaks to her, either in surprise or a force of habit. She had reacted similarly when Fjord had woken her.

“Oh, uh. Nott the Brave. I’m — new in town, yeah,” Nott says, shrinking away and looking uncomfortable with the sudden attention. She avoids saying anything more by taking another drink. 

“Give her some room, Jess,” Beau laughs, and she gently pushes Jester back, but she too turns to Nott and introduces herself. 

“What’s up, I’m Beau, I’m not  _ technically _ supposed to be here, but I don’t know how to follow the rules and Fjord makes the best drinks in town.” She finishes proudly, holding out a hand to Nott.

Nott’s eyes flit back and forth between the tiefling and the terribly disguised human for a moment, face carefully blank, before an approving smile spreads across her face. She takes Beau’s hand in a strong grip and gives it a shake. “Nice to meet you, Beau, Jester,” she nods at both of them and then turns her smile back to Fjord. 

“I agree, Mr. Cowboy here makes excellent drinks.” 

Fjord tips his hat. “Thank you kindly.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Beau waves her hand at Fjord’s performance, unimpressed. “I’ll take a glass of whatever our new friend Nott here is having.” 

“Ugh, I wish I could sit and drink with you guys,” Jester pouts, collapsing on the counter dramatically. 

“You don’t even like drinking,” Beau points out. 

“ _ So? _ Fjord makes awesome Shirley Temples too, you know,” Jester says, sticking her tongue out.

Fjord pours a glass of whiskey for Beau then slides it over to her. She holds it up to Nott for a toast. “Cheers to, uh… friendship or some shit. I don’t fucking care.I don’t do fancy words, let’s just fucking drink!” 

“You’re damn right!” Nott agrees enthusiastically as they clink their glasses and take hearty gulps of the amber liquor. Beau sets her cup down and lets out a pleased sigh, but Fjord sees Nott lose her balance and sway dangerously far back on the barstool, before grabbing ahold of the counter and righting herself. She looks surprised herself, and when she notices his concerned gaze she glares at him, clearly offended. 

He opens his mouth to say something — usually he screws things up with his words, not with his face — but Nott cuts him off before he can. 

“I should get going,” she announces and slaps some coin onto the bar. “I gotta find a hobo and his cat.” 

“Oh my gosh, I love cats!” Jester perks up. “Is this hobo your friend? Can we meet him and his cat?” 

Nott shrugs noncommittally and slides off the stool. “Maybe sometime, saloons aren’t really his scene.”

“ _ Ooooooh, _ he sounds mysterious,” Jester says before standing to join Nott. “I’ll see you out, I need to get back to work anyway.” 

“It was nice meeting you, Nott. I hope to see you around again. I could use a drinking buddy.” Beau holds her drink up in salute. 

“I’ll be around,” Nott says and gives one last look to Fjord. “Until next time, Mr. Cowboy,” she says, before walking out. 

Fjord has to resist the urge to step out from behind the bar. She has Jester with her and besides, she’s a grown woman and basically a stranger. No wonder she’s put off by his unsolicited concern. 

He swallows his worry and gives her a smile instead. “I look forward to it, Nott.” 

And with that Nott the Brave, accompanied by Jester, walks out of the Chateau and into the Nicodranian night. Though Fjord brings his attention back to Beau and the other patrons who come to order drinks at the bar, he finds his thoughts returning to the mysterious halfling woman frequently throughout the evening. 

He reassures himself with the thought that if she made it this far in the country by herself (or with a hobo and his cat?) then she can surely handle one night of heavy drinking. It really isn’t his business anyway; in fact, it’s better for everyone if he doesn't pry too much into customers’ lives. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Fjord chapters are written by oftennot, @thegudtam on tumblr.  
All Nott chapters are written by littleboxes, @nonbinarywithaknife on tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> chapter one (and all future fjord POV chapters) was written by oftennot, @thegudtam on tumblr.  
writer of all future nott POVs (including chapter two) is littleboxes, @nonbinarywithaknife on tumblr.


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